In a wine glass,
I drank Paris, sip by sip.
It tasted somewhat different:
Pungent at first, sweet then.
For months, I guzzled
Glasses after glasses
Of this city – of old and new.
In my stomach, it slowly brew.

November arrived,
Holding winter's hands.
The season of hot wine:
Only, I've already had mine.
The brew is acrid:
I feel really old.
The half-empty wine glass
Seems half-full, at last.

I've had enough of Paris
I want to barf now.
With every passing day, I wish –
To return to the Delhi I miss.

- हर्ष स्नेहांशु